


Speak and Be Heard

by Jld71



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Disability, Gen, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 04:20:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16632815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jld71/pseuds/Jld71
Summary: Sam’s different from the other kids.





	Speak and Be Heard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cowboyguy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboyguy/gifts).



> Written for the OhSam November Comment Meme 2018 hurt/comfort.  
> Written for the prompt by cowboyguy: Young Sam upset about having to move all the time and be the new kid, because he's already got a disability (author's choice) that sets him apart from everybody else, and isn't that hard enough?

Sam gave a loud sigh and then an angry look at his older brother, Dean and their father. They were pulling up stakes and moving on. Again. He had just gotten settled in Nebraska. He liked the school he was in. Sure, he didn’t exactly fit in. How could he? He didn’t speak. But, he had made a few friends. Now, he was being ripped from the one place he was comfortable in. 

“Sam, get a move on!” John bellowed from the doorway before disappearing out into the sunlight to pack the rest of their meager belongings into the trunk of the Impala. 

“Need any help?” Dean asked quietly. Dean knew he was packed; he had helped him earlier with his clothes.

Sam just shook his head no and then looked down at his feet. He heard Dean’s footfalls as he left the room, following their Dad outside. He heard Dean’s voice calling to him. “Come on, Sam. We gotta go.” It wasn’t fair; he didn’t want to go. Grudgingly, he picked up his backpack, slung it over one arm and walked out, shutting the door behind him. 

It wasn’t that he couldn’t speak. He wasn’t actually mute, per say. It was just he suffered from Tachyphemia. He HATED his disability. It made him self-conscious. So, he rarely spoke, which made people think he couldn’t speak at all. He could speak. It was just he suffered from anxiety over having to speak. At seven, it was just easier to remain silent than suffer the ridicule of his classmates. They didn’t understand what he suffered from. His speech was cluttered. His thoughts behind what he was saying, or trying to say were overactive. His sentences would come out with extra words or unneeded information. And then the laughter would start. So, it was easier not to speak.

But, he had been getting the help he needed in his current school. He had a speech therapist who worked with him three days a week. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if it had been caught earlier. If they lived a normal life, rather than moving every couple of weeks or months. But, he didn’t have that luxury. He was learning how to deal with things. He knew he needed to slow down, breathe and then speak. He had to concentrate on what he was about to say before he said it. That only added to his anxiety. His classmates and even a few of his teachers thought he was slow, that he didn’t understand what was being said to him. He did. He just hadn’t known what to call his disability until now.

He slid into the backseat next to Dean, a scowl on his face.

Dean knocked shoulders with Sam to get his attention. “It’ll be okay,” he whispered. 

Sam just shrugged his shoulders. He wasn’t so sure. They had been here for nearly three months. He liked it here. Moving just meant that he’d have to start all over again. He’d be the new, weird kid. Again. He closed his eyes, leaned back against the seat and rested his head on Dean’s shoulder. He thought back to the first time they had arrived at the school. His teacher, Mrs. Manning had noticed how he spoke and arranged for him to be tested. It was actually a relief for someone, other than Dean to notice he was dealing with something. John was never around to notice. 

“The boy’s smart,” John had practically growled at Mrs. Manning.

She simply smiled at him and then turned her attention to his father. “I never thought otherwise. Sam just has a speech disability. One, with time and help, he can overcome. I’ve set him up with a speech therapist here at the school. Sam with have therapy three days a week. He’ll learn techniques to help him deal with this, how to speak without cluttering his sentences. We just want to help your son, Mr. Winchester.”

John had turned to him, narrowed his eyes as if he was actually looking at him, seeing him for the first time before turning back to Mrs. Manning. “Fine, help the boy. Do what you need to do help him with this.”

He had been so happy that day. He finally had a name for what he was dealing with. He had liked the therapist. Mr. Valcor was kind. He made the sessions fun. He had even gotten Dean involved in a few of them so someone at home knew how to work with him; help him to practice outside of school. He would practice repeating a letter several times, slowly until he could say it without adding anything to it. He would chant a word over and over again, building up his confidence. He was making progress. He didn’t want to lose that. What if the new school didn’t have a therapist? What if they didn’t understand him? It was the what ifs that scare him.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and he sniffled. He didn’t want to cry. Crying was weak and he couldn’t be weak, especially in front of their father.

He felt Dean’s arm slide around his shoulder, hugging him closer. “Scared?” Dean whispered to him. He nodded his head, keeping his eyes closed. “Me, too.”

Sam opened his eyes, shocked at hearing what Dean had just admitted to him. He turned to look at his brother. He breathed deeply, centering himself before he spoke. “You . . . are?” He spoke slowly so he was mindful of what he wanted to say, even if it was only two words. He only wanted those two words to come out, nothing more.

“Yeah, but it will be okay. Promise,” Dean responded with a slight smile. “We’ve got each other. And, we can still practice what Mr. Valcor showed you. I took all the stuff he gave you.”

“You . . . did?” He asked as he sat up a little straighter next to Dean. 

“Yeah,” Dean said quietly, the smile growing wider on his face.

“Okay,” Sam managed to get out and then returned a dimpled smile to Dean before he went back to resting his head on Dean’s shoulder. 

“Anyone makes fun of you. I’ll kick the shit out of them,” Dean said with a laugh which got Sam to giggle.

So, maybe the move wouldn’t be so bad, this time.


End file.
